Today, June 29, 2009, marks my 25th year as a die-hard fan of Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band.
Most people usually can't pinpoint the actual date they became a fan of something or someone -- I can. I had a passing awareness of Bruce before this date and had bought the single for "Dancing in the Dark," but I had bought a lot of singles and they didn't always make me fans of the performer or band as much as the song.
June 29, 1984 was the date of the first show of the "Born in the U.S.A." world tour. And I was there. My high school best friend and I decided since Bruce had such a reputation for putting on a good show, we should try to get tickets. Long story short, we did. And the show was incredible. They played "Dancing in the Dark" twice, because they filmed the music video for it that night. Yes, I was actually in the St. Paul Civic Center watching Courteney Cox get pulled onstage to dance with Bruce -- twice.
For the record, the list of shows went like this:
(1) June 29, 1984 - Born in the USA tour#
(2) May 10, 1987 - Tunnel of Love Express Tour*#
(3) October 31, 1993 - Human Touch/Lucky Town Solo Tour
(4) November 29, 1999 - E Street Band Reunion Tour#
(5) September 30, 2002 - The Rising Tour*
(6) March 16, 2008 - Magic Tour*
(7) May 11, 2009 - Working on a Dream Tour
Shows indicated with an * were shows during which my favorite live song, "She's the One," were played.
Shows indicated with a # had unusual significance: Born in the USA tour show was the very first show of the entire tour that propelled Bruce from being a rock singer to an icon; Tunnel of Love Express Tour was the greatest rock show I've ever seen in my life, and trust me, that's saying something; the reunion tour was the final Springsteen show of the 20th Century.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Please Help Me
People say you can't bring yourself to ask for help until you know you've hit rock bottom. I know what that feels like now. I have a problem. I'm trapped in a repeating behavior that can't be good for me and there's nothing I can do to break out of the spiral.
Try as I might, I cannot stop playing Fallout 3 on my Xbox.
This game was a Christmas gift, and for months it did little more than collect dust. I kept hearing about what a complete world the game created, and how detailed the environments were, and how you could sit down and intend to play for thirty minutes or so and then realize that the entire night has passed by and you did not sleep.
Imagine yourself wandering through a post-apocalyptic wasteland, trying to solve a mystery and complete random missions you encounter along the way, all the while fighting for your life against a wide variety of irradiated mutant creatures and violent bands of human raiders, mercenaries, and slavers, all ready to kill you off for something as simple as the bottle caps you carry. Or your weapons. Or because they don't like how close you came to the dumpster they are protecting.
And it just goes on and on. Everything indicates there are well over 100 hours of gameplay crammed into this thing, and since I am, at the core of my person, little more than a grown-up version of the thirteen-year-old who could drop $12 playing video games at Aladdin's Castle without thinking twice about it, it's not like I can just put the controller down without seeing what happens next.
After awhile, the game begins to permeate my thinking. I'm afraid to turn on the bathroom sink because of the radiation I'm sure the water will contain. I approach ATM machines carefully because I think that entering an incorrect password will lock me out and send angry robots after me. I expect to hear Three Dog's wasteland survival tips whenever I turn on a radio. When I walk out to the mailbox, I'll stare at the ground the whole way, just to make sure I don't trip any frag mines. When I take the dog outside, I'll scout angles around the corners of my house, finding the best way I could take out a Super Mutant Brute with my VATS engaged, and wondering how close I would have to let this nine-foot-tall-Shrek-looking freak before I could switch to my laser rifle....
Like I said, I have a problem.
Try as I might, I cannot stop playing Fallout 3 on my Xbox.
This game was a Christmas gift, and for months it did little more than collect dust. I kept hearing about what a complete world the game created, and how detailed the environments were, and how you could sit down and intend to play for thirty minutes or so and then realize that the entire night has passed by and you did not sleep.
Imagine yourself wandering through a post-apocalyptic wasteland, trying to solve a mystery and complete random missions you encounter along the way, all the while fighting for your life against a wide variety of irradiated mutant creatures and violent bands of human raiders, mercenaries, and slavers, all ready to kill you off for something as simple as the bottle caps you carry. Or your weapons. Or because they don't like how close you came to the dumpster they are protecting.
And it just goes on and on. Everything indicates there are well over 100 hours of gameplay crammed into this thing, and since I am, at the core of my person, little more than a grown-up version of the thirteen-year-old who could drop $12 playing video games at Aladdin's Castle without thinking twice about it, it's not like I can just put the controller down without seeing what happens next.
After awhile, the game begins to permeate my thinking. I'm afraid to turn on the bathroom sink because of the radiation I'm sure the water will contain. I approach ATM machines carefully because I think that entering an incorrect password will lock me out and send angry robots after me. I expect to hear Three Dog's wasteland survival tips whenever I turn on a radio. When I walk out to the mailbox, I'll stare at the ground the whole way, just to make sure I don't trip any frag mines. When I take the dog outside, I'll scout angles around the corners of my house, finding the best way I could take out a Super Mutant Brute with my VATS engaged, and wondering how close I would have to let this nine-foot-tall-Shrek-looking freak before I could switch to my laser rifle....
Like I said, I have a problem.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Empty Sails
Man, what a day this was.
Okay, first of all just to get it out of the way: June 25, the day both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died. Farrah you saw coming; there was just a documentary about her life and illness not even a month ago, so you can't call it a surprise. But even when you see it coming, it's still shocking to have death actually happen. Trust me on this one.
And then Michael Jackson?! Wow. I'm going to be very curious to see how that happened because that was about as out of nowhere as I can think. He must have had some pre-existing condition that played a part in this. Farrah was a shock. Michael Jackson? I don't think there's been anyone since Princess Diana who's death is going to be as media saturated as his will be.
And if those two CNN moments weren't enough (and I certainly don't mean to downplay their importance in saying that, but they aren't going to affect my life much beyond what I see in terms of news coverage), illness and its horrible effects hit closer to home today when I checked my e-mail this morning. I was part of a mass e-mailing that SuperKyle's mom sent out, basically saying that since his cancer is not responding to treatment and his bone marrow hasn't recovered after his last procedure, he isn't elligible for treatment anymore and his team of oncologists will be transitioning him into palliative care instead. The disease will spread to his vital organs, and eventually his body will shut down.
And if you didn't know this, he's nine years old.
I got to know him when his sister "24" was in my class. That was her nickname - long story, and I'm sure she'd prefer I didn't repeat it. He was in remission back then, but in the past year and a half his cancer had come back twice. The second time, last fall, he started missing a LOT of school due to his treatment and this made him eligible for homebound tutoring. I told his teacher I'd be willing to do it when I found out, mostly because SuperKyle and I had always gotten along really well so I thought I might be able to help... and because I knew in my core that if she knew something like this was going on -- and I'm pretty sure she did know somehow -- Dop would have wanted me to help him.
It wasn't easy, but I'd been through it before so I knew what to expect, and I was able to keep a pretty good poker face while he sat at the table crying and vomiting from the pain one minute and then barely able to think coherently once his meds kicked in. Luckily for all of us, mostly him, that stage didn't last very long and we were able to spend some good time together and get some work done. We had some good times along the way, too: We played Dinosaurs on his Nintendo DS (he named my dinosaur "Roar," which is a pretty solid dinosaur name), we pulled a little prank on his sister during her birthday party, we used his little battery-powered massage tool to massage his dog's back and butt so she would stop barking, and we came up with our own private battle cry, "Go 73!"
That one is meant to stay between the two of us (though I think his mom knows the origin of it too), so I can't tell you what it means. But I can tell you that when the Relay for Life hits my hometown next month, one of the luminaries that will outline the track after dark will read "GO 73!" And people will look at it and be puzzled by what it means, which was the a big part of the reason we started it.
If you want to follow his progress or get more of the story, click below for a link to his CaringBridge page:
SuperKyle
Okay, first of all just to get it out of the way: June 25, the day both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died. Farrah you saw coming; there was just a documentary about her life and illness not even a month ago, so you can't call it a surprise. But even when you see it coming, it's still shocking to have death actually happen. Trust me on this one.
And then Michael Jackson?! Wow. I'm going to be very curious to see how that happened because that was about as out of nowhere as I can think. He must have had some pre-existing condition that played a part in this. Farrah was a shock. Michael Jackson? I don't think there's been anyone since Princess Diana who's death is going to be as media saturated as his will be.
And if those two CNN moments weren't enough (and I certainly don't mean to downplay their importance in saying that, but they aren't going to affect my life much beyond what I see in terms of news coverage), illness and its horrible effects hit closer to home today when I checked my e-mail this morning. I was part of a mass e-mailing that SuperKyle's mom sent out, basically saying that since his cancer is not responding to treatment and his bone marrow hasn't recovered after his last procedure, he isn't elligible for treatment anymore and his team of oncologists will be transitioning him into palliative care instead. The disease will spread to his vital organs, and eventually his body will shut down.
And if you didn't know this, he's nine years old.
I got to know him when his sister "24" was in my class. That was her nickname - long story, and I'm sure she'd prefer I didn't repeat it. He was in remission back then, but in the past year and a half his cancer had come back twice. The second time, last fall, he started missing a LOT of school due to his treatment and this made him eligible for homebound tutoring. I told his teacher I'd be willing to do it when I found out, mostly because SuperKyle and I had always gotten along really well so I thought I might be able to help... and because I knew in my core that if she knew something like this was going on -- and I'm pretty sure she did know somehow -- Dop would have wanted me to help him.
It wasn't easy, but I'd been through it before so I knew what to expect, and I was able to keep a pretty good poker face while he sat at the table crying and vomiting from the pain one minute and then barely able to think coherently once his meds kicked in. Luckily for all of us, mostly him, that stage didn't last very long and we were able to spend some good time together and get some work done. We had some good times along the way, too: We played Dinosaurs on his Nintendo DS (he named my dinosaur "Roar," which is a pretty solid dinosaur name), we pulled a little prank on his sister during her birthday party, we used his little battery-powered massage tool to massage his dog's back and butt so she would stop barking, and we came up with our own private battle cry, "Go 73!"
That one is meant to stay between the two of us (though I think his mom knows the origin of it too), so I can't tell you what it means. But I can tell you that when the Relay for Life hits my hometown next month, one of the luminaries that will outline the track after dark will read "GO 73!" And people will look at it and be puzzled by what it means, which was the a big part of the reason we started it.
If you want to follow his progress or get more of the story, click below for a link to his CaringBridge page:
SuperKyle
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